Mother's Day Surprise
by Ciella
Summary: Geoffrey meets with Hershey, Cocoa, and Cocoa's boyfriend for Mother's Day. While enjoying cake and coffee, Hershey drops some wonderful news. Rated T for language.


I don't know how to begin. They say that sometimes you just have to do whatever it is, and then go back later and clean up the mistakes. That's turned out to be very damaging advice in my lifetime. I guess all I can do is try my best.

Hershey and I are setting up her mum's apartment for Mother's Day. We ordered a little cake about a week ago, the perfect size for four people, a yellow cake with strawberries and cream filling. It sits pretty under the glass cover, on a table set with the good china. Hershey's got the coffee running. As I fluff the flowers we bought for her in their vase, Cocoa's partner of the last year keeps trying to start up a conversation with me. Ron is a good guy, but neither of us really like him. We don't dislike him. It's just… well, it's hard to adjust to having another family member around. Ever since Hershey and I eloped, we've been a happy family of three. Cocoa was our welcome third-wheel. My wife and I never thought it might make her feel lonely or unhappy; Cocoa's one tough motherfucker, after all.

Ron is some kind of a dog, interestingly enough. He's got the ears and tails of a spitz breed, but beyond that, it's hard to say. You'd never guess that he's a year or two older than Cocoa because of his baby face. Twenty years his junior, and I grow a fuller beard faster than he does (and I don't look good in it, either). He's a dog through and through: loyal, sweet, eager to please. He's a full foot shorter than me. I think I intimidate him- Hershey tells me that I intimidate a lot of people, because even my questions come out like statements. I go around sounding arrogant and factual, against my better intentions. It's usually applied to women- unfairly, I might add- but I have what might be called "resting bitch face." Apparently, I'm quite scary!

"Thanks so much for coming over and doing all this," Ron says, with palms out. "I never could've gotten this place ready before Cocoa gets home!"

"Don't mention it." I pause, wondering if I've been too brief. I should say something else so I don't sound frosty. " I'm sure she'll be stoked."

Hershey pokes her head out of the kitchen to tell us that the coffee's done, and that she's just gotten a text from her mom. It should only be a few minutes, now. Ron suggests we all take our seats, get comfy, and shoot the breeze while waiting for Cocoa. Of course, that's the last thing either of us want to do, but there's no polite way to decline.

As we sit down, Ron nudges my upper arm lightly with his elbow. "Hey, do you think you could ever take an old man to lift with you?"

Hershey smiles politely, "You're not old, Ron, don't be ridiculous."

"Seriously, I'd love to get fit like you two. I know you work hard for it, of course. But if you could find the time to teach me a few things, I'm sure I could learn a lot!"

It's very sweet of Ron to compliment us in this way. I know he's not a gym-goer, and that's alright. He knows that we're both very fitness-oriented, and he's trying to make it easier on us by talking about something he knows we like. But what he doesn't know, and what I don't know how to tell him, is that I'd much rather talk about anything else. Money, politics, religion, hit me! But I'm a very, very insecure person. Frighteningly so. I wish I could be okay without going to the gym, or without watching my weight, or without practicing my every move so that I "look like a man." I've been dreading this cake for hours now, ever since we picked it up. I know I'll have to eat a slice of it, and I know I'll feel like shit afterwards. I don't want to upset Hershey or her mum, but it'd be so much less stressful to skip it all together.

When it was just the three of us, I was a "man" by contrast of the two women I spent all my time with. Of course, I was still extraordinarily vain. I was still insecure. But since Ron's joined us, I've come to realize that I've been in this pathetic little pissing contest with other men for my entire life. No matter how physically fit I am, how sexually active or virile, how charismatic women find me, how intelligent the aptitude tests tell me I am, or how good at my job my superiors feel I am, I will always feel inadequate next to other men. I don't like myself very much.

"Honey?" I look up and see Hershey, the worried look in her eyes. "You doing ok?"

I didn't realize I'd begun to mentally and physically draw into myself. I'm slouching, my elbow on the table, rubbing my neck until it hurts a little. I fix my pose with a smart crack of my neck. "Sorry love, I zoned out. What are we talking about?"

But then the door opens and Cocoa's home. "Happy Mother's Day!" We all shout, and Cocoa claps delightedly.

"Oh, this looks great!" She says, ditching her shoes and purse by the door. She comes and gives everyone hugs and kisses- even me.

Ron serves the coffee, and Hershey neatly divides the little cake into perfect quarters. We all politely pretend that the pieces are far too big for us, making it sound cute and normal when I protest the size of mine. Oh god. I don't even like sweets.

"So, how was the night shift?" Hershey asks, just as we all sit down again. We're eating cake for breakfast; nauseating, isn't it? Yes, it's nine o'clock in the morning. Sorry for not making that abundantly clear.

Her mum melts when the cake hits her tongue. "This is sooo good! I haven't eaten in at least six hours. Ha. When I say crazy, I mean we eventually stopped taking admissions. We were over-capacity, under-staffed, and the asshole in 32B rang the call bell every 10 minutes in the hopes that Jennifer would answer."

"Jennifer is the youngest nurse in the ER," Hershey tells me on the side. " _Smokin'_ hot."

"Such a sweet girl, too. Naturally, even though she was on shift, every single one of us answered his bell except for her. We sent her to care for the old lady who was having a stroke instead."

"You're such a pisser," I say affectionately.

"I know! I'm full o' vinegar, too."

Cocoa's begun to like me more recently. I'm not entirely sure why. I think it might be that she's getting used to me. Hershey says that a lot of my rough edges have been smoothed out; I was pretty high-strung when we were first married, after all. But I think it all comes down to the fact that Cocoa is hungry- nay, _starving_ for grandchildren. We told her and Ron that we were going to start trying to conceive about six months ago. It's kind of worked out, because we've been able to make a lot of arrangements that otherwise we probably would've been too hard-pressed for time to make. We've saved money for hospital bills and aftercare, baby essentials for the first year of life. I've made several pieces of furniture for the baby myself, like the crib. We've even toured the local hospitals and picked one to deliver at. But Hershey's starting to get impatient with her body, so much so that I fear the stress will be counter-productive towards getting pregnant.

As we sit here, celebrating her mum, the resilient, loving single parent, I realize that neither of us has ever really known a father. Of course I knew Hershey's dad left them when she was little, but it never hit me like it does right now. Life was hard when my father died, but could I have done it all again as a woman? I genuinely don't know. The thought scares me more than I'd like to admit. It's only been through knowing and loving my wife that I've ever been able to relate to a woman's struggles. I escorted her to the bathroom when royal security had no women's rooms, to make sure she wouldn't be molested. She trained twice as hard to keep up with the men in my regimen. And that's just the workplace, just the tip of the iceberg. It doesn't cover the disparity in our paychecks, the danger of everyday life, catcalling, creeps… Ugh, don't get me started.

I want to be the father neither of us ever had. I know what it is to be a boy with no idea how to be a man because I've never really known one, and Hershey's knows what it is to be a girl with no idea how to tell if a man respects her because no man ever has. While that sentiment is fresh and clear in my mind, I notice Hershey fumbling with something under the table. She's hardly touched her cake. I want to ask her if she wants help, but I've ruined a few surprises that way. The path to hell is paved with good intentions, you know?

"Since it's Mother's Day, I wanted to give you guys a little surprise," she says, producing a little box from her lap. It's gaily wrapped in yellow paper with white polka dots with a white satin ribbon. "Who wants to open it?"

"Isn't it a present for your mum?" I ask, perhaps obtusely. Her mum seems really excited. Ron and I look at each other in utter confusion. Lord help me. I was hoping he'd know, because in so many TV shows, bros just look at each other and transmit information. Why does television keep lying to me?

Her mum appears to have an inkling of what's going on, and insists that I open it. I pull the pretty little ribbon gently and then the paper, as if extracting a piece of eggshell from an omelette with my sausage fingers. I lift the lid. And there, propped up as if by magic, sits a little note. "Read it," Hershey tells me, her eyes getting glassy.

"Dear Geoffrey, Mom, and Ron," I begin, trying to pronounce "mum" in the American way and failing. "I know it's been a stressful six months for all of us, with the occasional false alarm. I didn't tell you when-" I get choked up as I read ahead.

"Keep reading!" Cocoa cries, dying of impatience.

My throat won't open. My lips are already wobbly. I look at Hershey, and she's as close to tears as I am. "I didn't tell you when I first found out I was pregnant, because I was so afraid I'd lose the baby and let you down. But I began my second trimester yesterday, so with the risk of miscarriage largely over, Happy Mother's Day from me and the baby." By the time I've finished reading the note, I'm sobbing. I'm almost positive snot is running down my face. I cover my eyes with my big meaty palm. I can't help myself.

Hershey and her mum get up and hug and cry. Ron is congratulating me and gripping my shoulder, but I hardly notice until Hershey's wrapping her arms around me from behind my chair, cradling my head as if it were precious. "Is this real?" I ask, all mugged up.

"Look at what's left in the box."

I pinch the fluff that had made the note float so close to the surface of the box. It reveals a small plastic stick, with a little pink plus in the window. I get up as fast as I can and swallow her up in a big hug. "Happy mother's day, love," I manage to choke out. Hershey rubs my back, and I think she's smiling.


End file.
